The young man scrambled backward out of the room, the heavy glass door clicking shut behind him.

Vanessa, standing near the corner of the room, took a step forward.

Her fingers clutched her designer iPad case so tightly her knuckles turned white.

She looked from the flashing red light on the console to Grant, her face losing its usual perfect composure.

“Grant,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “The regulators. If they freeze that account—”

“Quiet, Vanessa,” Grant snapped without looking at her.

Margaret Voss stood next to me, her hand resting lightly on the leather folder containing the trust documents.

“The grandfather’s clause is ironclad, Grant,” Margaret said.

“You cannot bypass the children’s rights to cover your personal losses.”

Grant ignored her.

He walked toward the heavy glass door of his inner office and pushed it open.

“Step in here,” he said to me.

“Just you.”

“I have nothing to say to you in private, Grant,” I replied, keeping my voice steady despite the ache in my chest from my recent surgery.

“If you want to save your company, you will come in here,” he said, his eyes dark.